25 Weeks and 3 Days

25 weeks and 3 days. The day our world changed forever. Last time, we were in a labor and delivery room after I earned myself a trip there when my water broke. The second day I was there, my water broke again, or more, I'm not really sure. Doctors filed in and out of our room, doing multiple ultrasounds, trying to see what needed to be done. And then they decided it was time. I don't remember much else other than seeing my doctor walk through the door and being so relieved to see a familiar face.

And then there was the strange calm I felt. At the moment when I should have been the most scared about what was coming, I wasn't. All I can say is that I think the Lord somehow granted me that peace in that time that should have been the worst. Danny said he thought it was the calmest he had seen me since going to the hospital.

I think there's another reason, too. As strange as this may sound to some of you, I knew. I knew we weren't coming home with twins. I can't say how or why I knew, but I did. This is something I have admitted to only two other people. Afterall, how can you ever admit out loud that you think your child may die? And as a mother, how can you even fathom the thought that your child may die? When you are a parent you hope and pray for what is best for your child and that generally doesn't include a life without them. I don't remember the exact day I knew, but I remember the day we put up both cribs. I remember the pit I felt in my stomach and how badly I wanted to believe that we would be bringing home both our boys. We only had a couple of matching outfits because I couldn't bring myself to buy any, and of course we didn't have much time.

The days that people told me "don't worry" and "everything will be fine" were the worst. Because deep down in my heart, I knew they wouldn't be. I felt like a terrible person for even having those thoughts. I wished, hoped and prayed I would be wrong. There were days that I was able to push it out of my mind and convince myself that maybe, just maybe, everything really would be okay. Maybe if I believed hard enough and prayed hard enough it would change the outcome.

That day, when I felt that incredible calm and peace, I think partly it was because I knew we were about to find out the answer. The turmoil of wondering whether my worst fears would come true or not were about to be found out. The torture and guilt for even acknowledging the fact that my son may never come home were about to be over.

From those days in earlier weeks when we had to answer the "what do you want done for your children" question, we had always prayed that if the babies weren't going to make it that it would be a clear decision. And thankfully (thankfully?) it was. Carter was too sick and despite the efforts, he wasn't going to live. Somehow, we were spared having to make the decision to keep him alive, or let him go. The things that I knew deep, deep down in my soul came true. It didn't make it any easier. I argued a lot with myself. I felt guilty for having even listened to those thoughts. Maybe I wasn't strong enough, or didn't have enough faith. I wanted my boys so, so badly, with all of my heart. But for reasons that I don't know or understand, it wasn't what God had planned for us. Of course I wish it was different and I also wish that I wouldn't have known. Maybe there is a reason why that I just don't  know yet, I'm not sure.

So here we are, at this same milestone, but in a very different situation. Everything is going well, there is no reason to think that our little Ezra may not be coming home with us. Yet, that fear is still there. Not like it was with the boys, but just sitting there in the back of my mind. I pray that I will be reminded of God's faithfulness, even when I don't understand this life. And today we will be celebrating 25 weeks and 3 days and we hope for many more.